


Let No Man Put Asunder

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Music Kink, Other, Patch 5.2: Echoes of a Fallen Star Spoilers, Piano Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Pre-Zodiark relationship, continued after the summoning up to ARR.  Lahabrea is a devoted lover, to the point of, at times, neglecting himself.5.2 spoilers.
Relationships: Elidibus/Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	Let No Man Put Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended listening: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=79gzdskOGu4>

“From the top, then?”

The red mask dips, an uncharacteristically silent gesture, and Elidibus pauses, fingers resting on the keys.

“If you would like to review, or take a break—”

“Nay,” comes the response, and now at least the Speaker’s melodious voice is strong, sure. “I am ready. Confidence will come with success.”

Elidibus cannot help a chuckle. “So it will. And you truly are ready; you are the only one who must be convinced of this.” One foot, the one not on the pedal, taps one, two, three, four. A soft chord swells into a flowing melody, and the intro fades again to chords as Lahabrea’s voice rises to take up the song. Rich, warm tones rise and fall in hypnotic ocean waves, slowly building and then suddenly soaring to exquisite heights. Breath catches in Elidibus’s throat as shivers break out, but well-trained fingers do not falter, hours of practice showing their worth.

Elidibus lightens the pressure of fingers upon the keys as they reach the chorus and Lahabrea’s voice swells from a singular sound into a polyphonic multiplicity, chord flowing into chord. The barest accent, the barest support from the piano is all that is required as Lahabrea twists glory into an auditory form, sending his voice to the limits of possibility and drifting back down as the chords collapse gently into a single voice once more. Elidibus takes up the lack, creating an interplay between piano and voice, a give and take that spins them about a common center—like celestial bodies in gravitational complicity.

As the end swells upon them, they both build to a crescendo, wracking the melody sweetly upon their chosen instruments, until all revelations have been made and cherished. They fade to silence together, and Elidibus turns beaming to Lahabrea.

“You did perfectly. That was exquisite.”

Lahabrea is already grinning his triumph. “I believe it helps to have you here. I never did so well practicing on my own, I think.”

“Perhaps, my love. But recall that we are so often our own harshest critics.” Elidibus smiles, hope swelling within. “Will you consider performing this one? It truly is selfish to deprive the world of this beauty…”

Lahabrea sighs, sinking down onto the bench beside Elidibus. “Perhaps… I know myself too well. I will struggle with apprehension before a crowd, make mistakes…”

“Do you think _I_ never err in my own performances? So long as you retain a measure of confidence and do not fully stumble, none will ever notice.”

Lahabrea curves an arm behind Elidibus’s shoulders and leans close. For a long moment they are just together—no expectations, no demands, no fear. Naught more than unity so deep that their souls fuzz together at the edges.

“I would like to try.”

* * *

On the eve of the sacrifice they come together for one last performance. Unlike the ones that had so delighted Amaurot (and then, as fear and horror had grown to overwhelm the populace, brought solace and stability to souls in despair and grief), this is a private showing. An audience of two, each performing only for the other.

They do not speak of the heartache to come on their morrow. The grief already coursing through their breasts cannot be put into words, not without sparking another fight, so they turn instead to music, to link their souls one last time in beauty.

To create something to remember, not untainted by pain and loss, but all the more beautiful for rising from it.

The piece they choose is a tempestuous one, one they have not performed for a long time, one they did not perform often even before the horror began to swell upon their star, making such a fiery and harsh performance unsuitable. But it perfectly fits the discord in their souls this night, the inability to reconcile what must be done with what cannot be borne.

There are a few missteps, a few false starts, as they struggle through dim memory and occasional tears to recapture what was once crystalline in its clarity. When the cobwebs are cleared, though, they burn like twin flames, fire and lightning, searing and fierce. The duet crashes back and forth to its conclusion—one that neither realizes was always inevitable. There they perform one final duet of intimacy, bodies striking together in a rhythm as old as life itself.

One last time, their souls find unity before being torn asunder forever.

* * *

Lahabrea crashes into the white-robed figure full-tilt, unable to slow down his desperate charge. “Elidibus,” he sobs, clinging tight. “Oh, blessed Zodiark, it’s you, you’re here…” His desperate babbles fade into choked gasps, then a cry as he is torn away, yanked backward. His arms swing wildly as he attempts to free himself; another pair of hands encircle his wrist, trapping it.

“What are you?” Emet-Selch’s voice is as cold as ice and directed toward Elidibus.

The white-robed figure smiles. “I am Elidibus.”

“No. You are not. _You_ are some kind of soulless construct.”

Behind Elidibus, Zodiark floats gently closer; Darkness bathes them as He speaks.

“I have returned to you your comrade to serve as My mouthpiece—to bear My word unto the whole world.”

As one they drop to a knee, lowered eyes rising in pairs, here, there, to gaze upon their god's messenger. Lahabrea is the first to look up, to behold Elidibus—arms outstretched, a beatific smile shining from beneath the familiar mask. No longer restrained in body—and though thorny chains bind his heart, he does not care, for _Elidibus is here_ and everything else can be fixed—he shuffles forward, moving on hands and knees until he catches the edge of the white robe and pulls himself up. Elidibus reaches down, taking him in arms, drawing him close.

“Lahabrea…” The name is dredged up as from the depths of an ocean, rising from a seemingly impossible depth. One by one the others approach to touch Elidibus, to receive touch in return. Emet-Selch keeps his eyes averted even as his shaking arms encircle Elidibus—briefly. Once they are all gathered, Elidibus speaks once more.

“The doom has been halted. Let us return to Amaurot and see how best we might proceed from here.”

* * *

“Emet-Selch is… not wrong.” The admission is slow, pained. Hard-won. Lahabrea turns back to face Elidibus.

“I don’t care.”

“I cannot seem to feel… but I do _remember._ You _should_ care.”

Lahabrea crosses the space between them with decisive steps. “Nevertheless,” he whispers, and seals his lips upon Elidibus’s. He has attempted this many times in the last week; always Elidibus has responded in confusion, curiosity, study. This time, though, there is a _softening,_ tension held in those lips melting away as they part gently for him. Elidibus’s arms come up, and Lahabrea groans, sounding almost pained. He draws back slowly; Elidibus inhales deeply, catching a scent that brings to mind rain.

“How did that feel?”

Elidibus’s fingers rise, brush over the still-parted lips. “It felt… strange. I remember…” The fingertips rise, the wrist twisting, reversing, to brush Lahabrea’s lips, now. “This makes a connection, does it not?”

Smiling, Lahabrea kisses Elidibus again, briefly. “You tell me. Does it?”

“I believe… yes.”

Beneath Lahabrea’s mask, two gleaming drops come into view and draw shining lines down his cheeks.

* * *

Lahabrea finds Elidibus sitting at the piano bench, hands turned upward with fingers splayed, staring down. He sits down, slides close.

“Tell me what is on your mind.”

A deep sigh wracks the white-robed form. “If I truly _were_ Elidibus… I would weep from being unable to play. I cannot even do that.”

“You tried, then?”

“I… touched a note. I know the notes still. It was the central note, the one most commonly and easily built from. But I could not seem to play another.” A faint tremor has set into the long, graceful fingers; Lahabrea reaches out to clasp the hands in his own, turning Elidibus toward him.

“It is good to be curious. It is good to explore. Just because you did not find your destination the first time you set out upon the path does not mean the journey was worthless.”

A deep, shuddering breath makes the shoulders tremble; the hands come to rest upon the keys, familiarity in the gesture faltering as no notes sound out.

“Good. Play the note again for me, love.”

Elidibus does. It sounds out, technically perfect, lingering. Filling the space between them.

“What now?” Elidibus whispers. Lahabrea’s head turns, a gentle smile on his lips.

“What do you want now?”

“I don’t know.” A deep breath. “I… know intervals. Chords. Tell me what to play.” There is a pleading note in the soft voice.

“Mmmm. Play me… a third.”

Elidibus does.

“I like it. How about a fifth, now?”

The notes ring into the air, foundational, but Elidibus does not build off them. The fingers slip from the keys.

“They are just sounds. Just intervals. They hold no meaning.”

Lahabrea wraps his arms around in-drawn shoulders. “That is okay. There is no rush, my love. Give yourself time.”

“And if no amount of time is sufficient?”

Lahabrea’s fingers find the jaw, the side of the face, turning Elidibus for a desperate kiss. “We have eternity. We have each other. It is enough. It will _be_ enough.”

* * *

A note trembles in the air, another. Lahabrea rubs his hand up and down Elidibus's back, murmuring almost nonsensical encouragement to each one. It helps, but not enough; again Elidibus’s fingers fall from the piano. “It stirs nothing.” At Elidibus’s side, Lahabrea tenses, his hands tightening, fingers digging in for a breath.

“Let us try something else, then. Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

Lahabrea pulls Elidibus off the bench and shoves it to the side. “Put your hands on the keys and bend over.” With coaxing hands he guides Elidibus into the position he wishes; once Elidibus bows to the piano, back flat, arms extended, he releases a pleased, “Good.” Deft hand lift robes, lower underclothing, and he presses his already hardening member to Elidibus’s rear. He gasps at the contact, earning a curious glance from Elidibus. “What does it feel like to you?”

The answer is slow to arrive. “Unusual. It is like other touch, yet not.” A pause. “I remember it being desirable.”

“I would like to do more, if you are amenable.”

“I am.”

Lahabrea’s fingertips work, a dance they have done a thousand times, to ready his lover for his need. The body responds even as the mind analyzes, trying to pick meaning from passion. Elidibus looks back again as Lahabrea groans.

“Are you sure, still?”

Elidibus smiles. It seems to ease Lahabrea, and this eases Elidibus in turn. “I want to try this. Please.”

The penetration is almost immediately familiar; it awakens visceral memories that have lain undisturbed thus far. Like silty water, murky at first, but the agitation, the slow in-and-out begins to bring them clear.

“You must tell me if it hurts or is uncomfortable.”

“It is not.” After a long, analytical silence: “In fact, it is… nice.”

The sound Lahabrea makes is nearly mistaken for agony. As he moves faster, straining into Elidibus needfully, one hand pressing upon the offered back, the hands braced on the keyboard press down, striking a cacophonous chord.

“Lahabrea—”

“Nay, it is fine. Perhaps,” he huffs a laugh at the painful clash, “move your hands a bit, if you do not like the sound.” The noise lets up for a moment, replaced by another jarring sound. Elidibus makes a sound, frustration, and Lahabrea chuckles. He moves again, powerfully, each time Elidibus tries to find a chord, until they have fucked their way up to the piano. Elidibus’s mask is smashed against the music stand, askew; parted lips pant rapid breaths through flushed cheeks beneath it, and elbows splay heedlessly over black keys, the same strange chord now ringing out with each thrust Lahabrea makes.

His fingers creep down to Elidibus’s aching flesh, give a tentative stroke—striking by its contrast to his hard thrusts.

“How does that feel?”

“Oh…” The surprise in Elidibus’s voice is everything Lahabrea has ever needed. Both sound and bodies reach a crescendo soon after.

In the aftermath, Lahabrea drags the bench back and sets Elidibus across his lap, their arms cradling one another close. Their chests heave, the fast breaths slowing, sweat cooling across what flesh remains exposed. Lahabrea cannot stop smiling; he raises his head from where it rests against Elidibus’s own to steal a kiss.

“I think I have a new favorite style of music.”

“That was not music.”

“It was beautiful.”

Elidibus’s head rises to fix him with a glare. “It was a discordant mess.”

“It was the music of love.” Lahabrea smiles back, unrepentant, and Elidibus gives in with a sigh, head falling to rest on Lahabrea’s shoulder. A soft hum slips free as Lahabrea’s mouth paints a line of kisses over the jaw toward smiling lips. For a moment they tangle, soft content sounds accompanying the languid kiss, then Lahabrea draws back. “You found it discordant. That is good, you realize. It was not so long ago that word held no true meaning for you.”

For a moment the air goes still in Elidibus’s lungs. Lahabrea is right. Elidibus had an opinion—a strong one, what was more—on the quality of the random notes their lovemaking had hit. A slow smile grows, warm, tender. Grateful.

“You are, of course, correct.”

* * *

"I can barely see the music." Ire colors Elidibus's voice, but Lahabrea smirks back unrepentantly.

"I am confident you will manage. Don't tell me you haven't memorized the greater part of it already."

"That is entirely beside the point—" Elidibus cuts off at Lahabrea's first thrust, hissing in surprised pleasure.

"What are you waiting for?" he murmurs, and gives another thrust. Elidibus shows him the faintest edge of teeth and begins to play. It is difficult to maintain steady pressure to the keys while straddling Lahabrea's lap—even without motion in the equation—but Elidibus is determined to show Lahabrea up. The result is, at least, recognisable, though it sounds like the playing of a drunk. Nonetheless, Elidibus persists, propelled onward by determination.

Building pleasure only makes the task harder, and though Lahabrea is not so crass as to say anything, neither is he unaffected; his shoulders shake or he buries his face in Elidibus's shoulder after the more egregious mistakes. They tense and move as one, now, the beat of the music slowed to match their motions, and even so Elidibus begins to struggle. Head resting now on Lahabrea's shoulder, missed keys are ignored in favor of pounding steadily onward toward the piece's conclusion; the pace of both music and lovemaking pick up as they near it.

Bare measures from the end, Elidibus, maddened, entirely abandons the piece in favor of seizing tight to Lahabrea, sobbing with need, raking desperate red lines down his back. They peak together, a different sort of duet; cries of ecstasy decrescendo to murmurs of satisfaction.

Lahabrea does not comment on the fact that he won their wager, and Elidibus realizes his goal was never to win.

* * *

Elidibus's fingers fly up and down the keys, frenetic at the piece's climax. Lahabrea watches, listens, scarcely breathing. The rapid notes bang abruptly to a chord, another, three, four, and then one final resolution, held just long enough and then released. Furious applause pours from Lahabrea once he begins to breathe again, and Elidibus smiles.

"It pleases me that you like it."

"Elidibus… that was wonderful. You composed it?"

A nod. "For you."

"Truly? I adore it. How does it make _you_ feel?"

"Nothing, in truth. But I remember how to make things that move others; is this not good?"

"It is! And the passion in this work… Elidibus, I labor to believe that you could compose something so exquisite and perform it so beautifully and yet feel _nothing."_

Elidibus gives a faint shrug, little more than a tilt of the head. "Well… perhaps. I created it with memories of making love to you in mind. It does remind me therefore of that, but only because I know what it is intended to represent."

"I disagree," Lahabrea murmurs, leaning close for a kiss. "I understood perfectly well the passion in the piece. You have outdone yourself, my love."

The kiss becomes another, and Lahabrea joins Elidibus on the bench. Slowly they twine closer, robes, masks, smalls falling to the floor as they seek to celebrate. They find a comfortable position as Elidibus straddles Lahabrea's lap, reclining back against the piano. Elbows brace onto the keys, striking a pair of tonal clusters, high and low.

"I love this piece," Lahabrea says, and Elidibus laughs. For a moment Lahabrea closes his eyes, cherishing the joyous sound, and when he reopens them they are shining.

Counterpoint to the music Elidibus just played, their lovemaking is slow, unhurried and simple. Lahabrea rocks them, his mouth exploring Elidibus's throat, cheeks, ears in turn, then he encourages Elidibus to do the same. His patient demonstration is repaid handsomely, that ever-present curiosity now turned to his pleasure. He sighs in bliss at the scrape of teeth as Elidibus grows bold, experimenting; his hips begin to rock faster as his blood heats.

As they hasten their conjoined motion, hunger building and spurring them on, Lahabrea wraps Elidibus in aether, his eyes closing as he seeks to merge deeply as they used to do, once, so long ago. Elidibus gasps as warmth invades, a wonderful rush. Lahabrea croons softly, hand stroking over hair as Elidibus is momentarily overwhelmed. Slowly the feeling becomes manageable, and Lahabrea resumes the rocking rhythm.

They kiss, clutching, trembling; the slow pace has been abandoned in favor of sweet friction, a rush now toward mutual fulfilment. Elidibus burns now, incandescent, hands grasping at Lahabrea with unashamed desperation, adoration.

"You are the soul of me," Elidibus gasps. Lahabrea releases a tortured groan, his head falling to rest upon the shoulder lingering conveniently beneath it. "I felt that, by the way," Elidibus adds with a growing smirk. "I felt you throb within me at my words."

"You have this effect on me, my love," Lahabrea manages by way of response. His thrusts have begun to lose their rhythm, sharp staccatos of desperate craving that he tries to corral.

"I like that." Having figured out what drives Lahabrea wild, Elidibus cannot stop pushing him, teasing him, taking over. It is… fun. And so lips brush here, there, then teeth, and hands explore, one winding into hair, the other probing the cleft of Lahabrea’s rear, eliciting another needy sound and an increase in their pace. Lahabrea in turn changes his tack, driving Elidibus wild instead, for the brief respite it gives him to recover. By turns they wind each other tighter, and finally burst as one, overcome in simultaneous bliss.

“Thank you,” Elidibus whispers, once coherent again. “Your generosity and patience never fail to astound me.”

Lahabrea’s response is a lingering kiss.

* * *

“You know I cannot remain. This is required of me. And even could I resist, would you really ask me to risk the star itself for your comfort?”

Elidibus watches Lahabrea swallow a “yes.” It is bitter, it seems, a difficult meal. “I would not want to be so cruel to you,” he says instead, and his hands come up to frame Elidibus’s face tenderly. “You must do what is necessary, as must I. But know this, my love: I _will_ find a way to break Her strength, so He need no longer sup upon your own. Whether it takes a year or a hundred thousand, I will see it done. I will not rest until it is accomplished.”

Worry pinches Elidibus’s face behind the mask. “I am, as always, touched by your devotion. But please take care of yourself, as well… for I love you.”

Lahabrea’s breath stills. A truth spoken in a thousand gestures is one thing, but frank parting words are something it seems he needed more than he realized. Elidibus smiles, grateful that the phrase has found its mark, had its desired effect. “You are precious to me. All of you are, but I could never forget the tireless effort you have put forth to help me find myself.” Elidibus steps closer, engulfing Lahabrea in a tight hug. “I _will_ return to you. Do not do anything foolish while I am away.”

The smile Lahabrea gives in response is not entirely reassuring. But it matters not, for their time is up. With a last lingering kiss, Elidibus retreats to the place between worlds, to the slow-beating heart of their god, and falls asleep. The dreams that come are slow and dark, full of warmth… love.

* * *

When Elidibus emerges upon the Source, Lahabrea is there. Light dribbles weakly from healing rents within his aether, and Elidibus recoils. But Lahabrea is unaffected by the reaction, coming forward for a warm embrace.

“How long have I been gone?” Elidibus prays the answer is “a long time,” for the attenuation Lahabrea has undergone since last they were together is naught shy of horrifying.

“Millennia,” Lahabrea responds. “I have missed you, Elidibus.”

In response, Elidibus runs a soothing hand over Lahabrea’s head. “I am here now. Take your rest, and let me shoulder some of your burden.” When Lahabrea seems reluctant, Elidibus sighs, seizing his chin between thumb and finger. “I will brook no stubbornness in this, Lahabrea. Call your minions; we have much to do.”

Lahabrea’s jaw tightens. “I had hoped for a warmer welcome.”

Elidibus sighs. “There will be time soon enough. Rest. I will join you when I can.” Hesitance stretches out, almost becomes rebellion. Elidibus gentles the grip, drawing Lahabrea closer, planting a kiss on the lips to soften them. “I will join you when time permits. Now, go.”

“I will hold you to that.” One lesser Ascian appears nearby, a second. A third. With one last fierce press of lips, Lahabrea disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose not to gender Elidibus because _reasons_ so forgive me the odd phrasings.


End file.
